


Only a Number

by Lovelettes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelettes/pseuds/Lovelettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You git,” you growl.</p><p>“And your age is showin'. You were slow, and I need somethin' inside me right now.”</p><p>You flush and look away from him, feeling embarrassed. Something twists awkwardly in the pit of your stomach. “Does my age bother you, Dirk?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Number

**Author's Note:**

> I said AU.
> 
> Tumblr user Brohei/Broadway Karkat [tindeck cantabileGato] did a dramatic reading of the first part right [here](http://tindeck.com/listen/dycf). Thank you <3

**Be the cool ass motherfucker who's about to go blind.**

You are now Dave Strider and what the fuck is that suppose to mean.

You're arriving home late one evening because of some dumb ass project you had to work on with Rose, and you're walking up the stairs to your apartment wondering why your presence was even necessary considering she did the entire project (for which she gave you a piece of wisdom you didn't care to listen to).

You sigh with relief as you make it your floor and spot the door. It's been one of those days again, and you want nothing more than to grab a slice of pizza and a bottle of apple juice and do nothing but listen to your own sick beats.

As your hand reaches the knob, you hear muffled voices coming from the apartment, and you stop because that's fucking weird. Your bro never has anyone over. Ever. You're sure that he has no real friends (a couple of buddies at the club for sure, but no one that comes to crash on the couch), and you're sure that you haven't done anything in school lately that has warranted a visit from a teacher. Nothing's broken (nothing your bro can't fix, anyway), he doesn't belong to some book club or some shit, and the rent has already been paid. And you both have no other family but each other, so that leaves nothing.

Nothing but a lay, that is.

You've never been curious about your brother's sex life, partly because you never really thought of him actually having one. For all you know, he was asexual or had some mutation that didn't allow him to have sex with a human.

Or maybe he just did his business in cheap motel rooms and the bathroom of the club or a seedy bar nearby.

Either way, he had brought someone home to get his rocks off with, and now you're suddenly curious as to what his type is.

You find yourself smirking as a plan begins to formulate.

You abandon the door and head straight for the roof. You plan to sneak in through your window to catch a nice long look—clothes permitting, otherwise you'll gouge your fucking eyes out—at who your bro will potentially be bumping uglies with.

As you ninja down the fire escape, you remember that this morning you had told him that you probably weren't going to be home until tomorrow afternoon. You did plan on pulling an all-nighter (which consisted of you watching TV and texting John while Rose chided you about your slacker ways) at Rose's, so he wasn't expecting you. The bastard brought someone home when the coast was clear. You briefly wonder how many times this has happened while you were away.

Fuck. When did your bro have a life outside of DJing and attacking you at random?

You slide open the window (already unlocked because sometimes you have to abscond when things get a little stressful) and slip inside your room, smug-ass smirk still plastered on your face.

You creep up to your door, the muffled voices slightly clearer. You can make out a word or so, but nothing coherent.

“...Strider...here...”

“...getting...it...need something...the entrance...”

From the sounds of it, nothing had started just yet—if you were interpreting it correctly, that is. So you creak the door open just a tad and take a look, a quick look just to make sure you want to see what's out there.

And fuck do you.

You're surprised by what you see. Sitting on the futon is an older man with a bow tie and boots and a mustache that makes you arch an eyebrow.

And, well, fuck. How old is the guy? Fifty? Sixty? Older than fucking that? Jesus fuck, you didn't know your bro was into that May-December shit. He was twenty-something, but still.

Maybe it wasn't what you thought. Maybe it was something else entirely.

“Is it kicking in?” your bro asks, kneeling down in front of him.

Okay, maybe you were right. Maybe this guy is your bro's lay.

“It is,” he replies, and you're not really surprised by his fancy-slash-goofy-as-fuck accent. “Feeling right lascivious right now.”

And your bro smirks at this and goes for his belt.

In the back of your mind, you're hoping that he's not going to do what you think he's going to do, but in reality, he's going to do what you think he's going to do.

You get an eyeful before you slam the door and exit stage window to the fire escape.

You send a quick text to John letting him know that you're crashing at his place and to not ask questions because you had seen too much and that's all there really was to say on the matter. He sends an “OK” and doesn't question it, but you know he will when you show up on his doorstep.

Fucking John.

You plan on telling him to fuck off and bust out the xbox because frankly you don't ever want to have to relive that moment where you witnessed your brother wrapping his lips around grandpa-cock.

You cringe because there you fucking go reliving it.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and in this case, the cat wanted to blind itself with a pair of rusty spoons or perhaps jump off the top of an apartment building. Anything to unsee what you had just seen.

**Dave: Be the guy chuckling at his little bro's expense.**

You are now the quietly laughing Dirk Strider and you wonder why your little bro left so quickly. The show was just starting.

“The little shit. Thinkin' he was being a ninja spyin' on us. Serves him right,” you say, shaking your head. You seriously need to teach him the proper way to spy.

Your lover, the suave Mr. Jake English, looks down at you quizzically. “That was him slamming the door?”

“Yeah.”

“Then perhaps we should stop, Strider.” He tugs at his collar nervously. “It's not right to be doing this with a youngster present.”

You can't help yourself. You smile at that cute little collar-tug and his worried expression. “Don't sweat it, Mr. English. We're good. He's half-way down the street to Egbert's house by now.”

He knits his eyebrows together and tosses a glance towards Dave's door. “You think he doesn't approve?”

He's adorable, you think, and you should tell him that.

“Nah. He just saw a little too much of us and needs some time away from our brightly burning love fest.”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and looks back at you with those emerald eyes of his. “If you're sure, Strider.”

Your smile becomes a smirk as you rise from your knees. You straddle his thighs, hands resting on his shoulders. “Shall we continue this little love fest then, Mr. English?” you ask even though you know the answer.

“Strider...”

“It's Dirk,” you say as your hand slides down his broad chest. You lean forward to whisper in his ear, “Jake...”

He shivers in delight and grasps the sides of your face with his strong, tanned hands, pulling you in for a kiss. His lips work furiously against yours in a combination of soft and rough. He bites your lips and soothes the wound with his tongue, and you open your mouth to start the ensuing tongue fisticuffs. Your tongue tangles with his, massaging his, dancing with his. You moan unashamedly and arch against him, chest colliding with his, fists clinging to his jacket.

You reluctantly move your body away to gain more leverage and work your hand down to his throbbing member. You release his shirt and unsnap the buttons to your leather gloves. They're sweaty, but you know he doesn't care. You wrap a palm around his cock, stroking him up and down, showing no mercy. He's hot and hard and you find yourself becoming jealous of your own hand. Your tongues clash again, and your other hand goes for his hair. You forget the jealously; your mouth has claim to his mouth, your tongue to his. You forget the desire to take him down your throat.

Jake groans, and the sound reverberates through you. He knocks the hat from your head and fumbles with removing both your shades and his glasses, reducing the hot tongue action between the two of you to gentle kisses. His mustache tickles a bit, but that's all perfectly fine with you.

Once the protective barrier of your shades are gone, you stop stroking Jake and meet his eyes. You would think that you would feel exposed with the windows to your soul staring into Jake's, but you don't. The first time the two of you made love you were embarrassingly shy after they were removed, but now...

Now you're so in love with Jake English that you want him to see you at your most vulnerable, your most honest, your most lustful.

He's hands gently frame your face as he kisses you, passionate and sweet. Just the softness of his lips is enough to drive you wild, enough to send a heat down into the pit of your stomach. And then he licks your lower lip again and the heat shoots down to your groin.

Round two of tongue wrestlin' begins, and you find yourself winning as you continue to pump Jake's cock closer to his end. He bucks up into your hand, hips arching.

He's moaning into your mouth when suddenly he pushes you back, face flushed, breath coming hard and raggedly. His eyes are bright with desire.

You stop.

“Dirk...” he breathes. “Dirk...I won't last much longer at this rate.”

You lean your forehead against him. “I thought that little pill made you into Iron Man.”

“Not...not at this pace.” He moves you off him. “And besides, you, ahem, need a little help, it seems. It's not entirely fair if I get to have all the fun, is it?”

You smirk at him, eyelids becoming heavy. Your eyebrows raise. “And what did you have in mind?”

**Dirk: Be your future lover.**

You are now Jake English approximately five minutes into the future, and oh sweet mercy are you feeling flustered.

Your young beau, sans clothes, is sitting atop your bare chest, pale skin gleaming, fists gripping your hair, eyes shut, eyebrows knitted together, cock in your mouth.

Now, you can't deep throat him from this angle—in fact, you can't deep throat at all—but you take him in as far as you can and work on lavishing his head with your tongue, sucking gently on occasion. It's working, you believe, because he's moaning like a porn star and it's sincere. The noise is breathtaking and not to mention a turn-on; you groan around him, eliciting even louder moans.

“Jaaaake...Jaaaake...pl...please...” you hear him. He's pleading. You massage his round, plump buttocks, knowing full well what he wants. “Put it...put it...” He chokes on a moan and then growls in frustration at himself. “Just fuck me.”

And he doesn't have to tell you twice.

You grasp his hips tighter and taste him one last time before he's moving off you, searching for the lube he retrieved earlier.

By the time you sit up and shift over to him, he's two slick fingers deep, scissoring himself, opening himself to you. His knees are drawn up, his legs are spread, and he's purposefully boring holes into you with those bright orange eyes of his.

“You git,” you growl.

“And your age is showin'. You were slow, and I need somethin' inside me right now.”

You flush and look away from him, feeling embarrassed. Something twists awkwardly in the pit of your stomach. “Does my age bother you, Dirk?”

You can't look at him. You can't look at his perfect skin, that youthful faces, those bright eyes. You can't bear it. No matter how many times he told you that your age and everything that came with it was fine with him, you couldn't be fine with it. Your conscience said you were taking advantage of nothing but a boy, despite the fact that he was nearing thirty himself.

Dirk was in it for the sex. Why else would an attractive young fellow want anything to do with you?

He removes his fingers and gives you an incredulous stare. “I didn't mean it like that, Jake,” he says. “You know how I feel about you. You know. Age is only a number. A stupid little number. Jake—”

“Dirk, words are easy to—”

“Jake, I love you.”

You can't believe what you're hearing. Was he off his rocker? Saying that he loves you—feh! You used to be so accepting of everything, believed everything you heard. But then you grew up, you traveled, you saw things, experienced things. You realized that life wasn't like the movies you love.

And yet...his eyes mean it.

You find yourself believing it, and oh bollocks, is that such a crime? You can hope, you can dream.

And the utter sincerity, the rawness in Dirk's eyes are so painstakingly real that you think you don't have to dream.

He's here.

He's here, and you're going to make sure he knows that you feel the same.

You push him down on his back with renewed fervor and kiss him hard, mumbling incoherent words against his lips. They resemble “I love you.”

So you tell him.

“I love you,” you say as you pull away, meeting his eyes.

Dirk smiles—a refreshing smile of bliss—and his eyes are smiling just the same. His body relaxes. “I was...I'll admit it...I was worried that you didn't. I'm just a young punk, after all.”

You laugh. “Such nonsense, Dirk. Of course I do!” You kiss his forehead. “How could I not?”

You smile at each other for a long minute before you remember Dirk's request. You oblige him.

You find the lube laying to his side and coat your cock thickly. Your fingers rub his entrance, which is already stretched and ready for you to fill. You give him a grin as you take yourself into your hand and shift closer, lifting one of his legs over your shoulder with your free hand.

Slowly, slowly, you enter him, his tight heat enveloping your hard member. You groan deeply, and you suddenly feel dizzy. All the blood has rushed to your erection, after all.

You begin to move gently, in and out, making sure Dirk is completely ready before you fuck him senseless.

But Dirk is feeling impatient, and he digs a heel into your back in an attempt to bring you closer. “I thought,” he begins, voice breathy. “I said to 'fuck me,' Jake.” Even though he's complaining, his heavy-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, and heaving chest betray him. He's enjoying the slow place just as much.

You are a gentlemen, however, so you pull almost completely out of him and snap your hips forward, only slightly worried that one might break. A moan rips from his throat, echoing off the walls, and you know you've found his prostate. You've had a lot of practice at finding it. You grin again, keep the angle, and repeat the action, drawing away from him and snapping back.

A rhythm is set; you pound inside his tight heat with an animalistic roughness, moaning in synchronization with him. He lean forward, heart hammering, head pounding, and sandwich his leg between your chests as you thrust into him.

He's clawing your back, and he's close to bringing blood, but you don't care. Let him. Let him mark you; you'll mark him back.

You bow your head to the crook of his neck and bite down sharply, sucking at the spot with the intent to leave and deep bruise. Dirk's squirming beneath you, telling you that you need to touch him and that he's close...so close...

You grasp his cock and begin pumping him quickly. His moans become louder, as do yours. You're close, he's seeing the white light already.

“Ja...Jake!” he cries as he climaxes.

He spills over in your hand and onto his chest, and he clenches around you tightly. You tell him you're coming as he kisses your neck. He clenches again intentionally and you're gone. You let out a cry as your seed fills him, and for a long moment you stay in that position, panting, sweating, and unmoving.

Dirk draws you into his arms and tugs you down to him, and you allow yourself to to nuzzle his neck.

“I meant that, ya know,” he says, and his voice is thick with satisfaction, earnestness, and his Texan drawl.

“...Hm?” You're feeling tired.

“That I love you.”

“I believe you, Dirk. And you know that I meant it too.” Your eyes close.

“I know...”

And the darkness draws you in and takes you under.

**Jake: Be the conscious one.**

“Jake...Jaaaake...”

You are now Dirk Strider and your lover is resting his full weight on top of you. It's getting a little difficult to breathe.

You writhe beneath him, struggling for freedom. “Jake, can you please—”

His snores reach your ear and you know it's a lost cause. You wrap your arms around him and stroke his hair as you wonder how you could be so lucky.

**Dirk: Be Dave.**

“You wanna tell me now?” John asks you as you kick his ass at some fighting game.

You are now Dave Strider and you're finally forgetting what you saw.

And now your stupid friend is trying to bring it back up and you're about to to deck him if he doesn't quit asking.

“Daaaave,” he says, “Daaaave. Come on, tell me!”

“Fuck off.”

**Author's Note:**

> That was the first time I ever wrote legit smut.
> 
> /dead
> 
> So I made this an AU because 1) I felt awkward writing "Bro" and "Grandpa" 2) I wanted to use Dirk and Jake's names because of reasons 3) Dave needed to be here and so did John.
> 
> I hope this is okay.


End file.
